


i will look at love [as more than an instrument of pain]

by gaydisasterdanvers



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, ReignCorp, There is a lot to unpack here, lena luthor is complicated, reigncorp endgame, sam arias is in love, they're beautiful business bitches and they deserve the world, this is my first attempt at this POV so give it a shot, walls to break down and whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaydisasterdanvers/pseuds/gaydisasterdanvers
Summary: “I never meant to fall in love with you.” she admits quietly, toying nervously with the fingers of your right hand. The confession is there- hanging heavy in the once comfortable silence between you.It’s suddenly too quiet. Too hot. Too bright.Too much.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Arias/Lena Luthor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68





	i will look at love [as more than an instrument of pain]

**Author's Note:**

> ****
> 
> **based on the dialogue prompt:  
> **  
>  _"I never meant to fall in love with you."_
> 
> **my tumblr:** gayydisasterdanvers

_I let bad love betray me once_   
_But I was barely outta high school then_   
_And I guess I fear the same results_   
_That none will take me as I am_   
_I wanna be loved, I wanna be whole again_   
_So tuck my hair behind my ears and touch my soul again_   
_The window is wide, the post unfulfilled_   
_And I just ask you to be patient if you'll have me still_

_'_ _Cause I wanna open up_   
_And try to love someone_   
_'Cause I wanna overcome_   
_And try to love someone_

_The heart, the heart, the heart_   
_The heart is a muscle_

-

'the heart is a muscle' - gangs of youth

* * *

“I never meant to fall in love with you.” she admits quietly, toying nervously with the fingers of your right hand. The confession is there- hanging heavy in the once comfortable silence between you.   
  


It’s suddenly too quiet. Too hot. Too bright.   
  


_Too much.  
  
_

“Sam,” you whisper, tugging the sheet over your bare chest (as though you’ve suddenly developed a sense of modesty- but you’re less vulnerable this way) as you turn to face her.   
  


She doesn’t look at you, in fact, she actively _avoids_ looking anywhere but at the ceiling.   
  


“It’s okay,” Sam replies softly as she slips her fingers between yours and gives a faint squeeze, “I know that’s not what this is meant to be. It’s not a big deal, I’ll be okay. Really.”  
  


And while it’s true, it was never _meant_ to be more than the press of skin and tangle of limbs under the sacred cover of darkness, at some point it had become something else entirely. It had shifted, against your better judgement, into cups of coffee and warm stacks of pancakes. Soft touches between boardrooms and feather-light kisses stolen in empty elevators.   
  


Somewhere between good morning texts and falling asleep wrapped in impossibly long and deceptively strong arms you’ve lost the practiced control you’ve had over your emotions. Maybe it wasn’t _meant_ to be this way, not at first, but there is something undeniable in the way your bed feels entirely too lonely when she’s not in it.   
  


So maybe, you realize so suddenly it steals the oxygen from your lungs, despite every attempt to distance yourself from your emotions _you’ve failed_. It isn’t the first time, but the walls now are far stronger than they’d been when Andrea Rojas had demolished them and left the devastation of betrayal. You’d spent years rebuilding, fortifying and strengthening. Padlocking and dead-bolting to keep history from repeating itself.   
  


Lillian had warned you, after all.   
  


Love is foolish- weak and consequential. A blinding light to obscure the path to greatness. Love is only a tool for exploitation.   
  


Through months of sleepless nights and getaways under the guise of business, Sam began to wear at your defenses. Chisel away at the stone until deep fissures formed.   
  


You realize that maybe this has never been casual, and maybe you’re okay with that. Kind of. Where so many in your life have been cold and callous, taking and never stopping to give, Sam is the opposite. Samantha Arias is the soft light of morning that warms the chill of darkness from your bones. The comfort of an old sweater, worn and weathered but safe and familiar. She gives and gives and asks nothing in return.  
  


And maybe the lines were clear, the boundaries marked in caution tape, but you never were one for rules anyway. Not when her hand was in yours, toeing that limit with soft brown eyes and the smile that left crinkles in their corners. Not when she kisses you like you’re the last woman on earth, gasping against your lips as you slip your fingers inside of her, crooking them in that all too familiar way that always makes her grab at your shoulders for stability. She breathes your name like a prayer, syllables echoing from the holy cathedral confines of her mouth.   
  


Samantha Arias is angelic and pure. Untarnished. Her heart unscathed and unburdened by heartbreak.  
  


She is light, warm and welcoming. Flooding your skin and senses, relaxing and calming. Easy and free.

  
You? You’re nothing but darkness. Cold and disorienting. Shrouding your surroundings in uncertainty and wreaking havoc on those who dare try to navigate the labyrinth you’ve built around yourself.   
  


Sam is _good_. Genuine. Caring to a fault. She deserves love- the kind that is easy and careful and free. An all-consuming devotion.   
  


By all intents and purposes, your dark is enough to swallow her light. Destroy the best parts of her leaving behind nothing but a shell of who she used to be. This sweet, gentle and beautiful woman deserves more than you could ever give her.   
  


Sex? That’s easy. Transactional. It’s physical, primal and uncomplicated. Or, it was supposed to be.   
  


Movement at your side jerks you from the recess of thought. Sam is still there, eyes still trained carefully on the mirrored ceiling above. Palpable panic radiates from her normally easy, relaxed form. Lean lines of muscle tense- ready to run. Carefully, you fold into her side, ear pressed into her sternum. The thrum of her heart beats heavy against your ear, picking up pace as you manage to wrap an arm around her torso.

  
“Where’d you go?” Sam whispers against your hair, the low timbre of her voice a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had you spiraling. Second-guessing your entire identity and existence.   
  


You can only hum in response, fighting with your vast vocabulary but struggling to find the perfect combination of words.   
  


_You are Lena Luthor_. Collected and controlled, powerful and polished.   
  


_You are Lena Luthor_ and you are so much more than the name pinned by your adoptive family.  
  


_You are Lena Luthor_ and you realize that you’re lost because if you can’t keep people out, it’s only easier for them to bring you down.   
  


“Lena?” Sam asks, gently nudging at your shoulder to shake you loose from the tangles of thought.   
  


And then there is Sam. Perfect, supportive, ‘ _I-can-do-no-wrong_ ’ with a kilowatt grin Sam Arias. Someone who you trust with more than your body. Arguably the one person who has never done you wrong. The woman who has let you into her world, sees the flaws and cracks beneath the practiced precision of your persona and _stays._   
  


_You are Lena Kieran Luthor_ and you are impossibly, irreparably, against your best judgement, in love with Samantha Arias.   
  


The words are unfamiliar, catching on the tip of your tongue. You should tell her, you know that you should (she deserves to know), but it’s a process. _12 Steps to Dissolving Years of Trauma._ You never were one for words, settling for action instead. Turning in her arms, you press a kiss to the soft skin between her breasts. When you raise your head, finally finding the courage to look at the woman beneath you- she’s looking back with those _eyes_. The ones that reflect back an unadulterated softness in their deep honey brown.   
  


“I’m right here,” you answer. It’s barely audible, but as you slide your palm over her heart and lean in to kiss her swollen lips you whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  


Sam doesn’t hesitate. She kisses you back enthusiastically, smiling against your mouth as she cups your face in her fingers to keep you close as kisses you over and over and over. Committed to tasting the newfound sweetness of the unspoken words wrapped around your tongue.   
  


It isn’t a confession. But it’s a step in the right direction.  
  


Careful insistent touches guide you back into the mattress. It’s slow and careful. Each press of her lips to a new stretch of skin is a revelation, the fissures in those fortress walls branching out with every deliberate, loving touch.  
  


As she disappears between your legs, grabbing your hand to tether you to reality- to her- you feel your defenses begin to crumble.  
  


This time? You grab at the chisel and start tearing your own walls down.


End file.
